In Lost Blood
by Slytherin Princess Nysa
Summary: Merlin's destiny is to save Camelot, Prince Arthur's destiny is to unite the land of Albion. Two sides of the same coin, but can something as fickle as destiny guarantee a victory in the face of overwhelming odds? Fem!Merlin/Arthur, OC/Gwaine. (Sporadic Updates.)


**Chapter 1**

 **~o.O.o~**

 **~Alya Merlin~**

Her feet hurt.

Alya had been waking nonstop for days. She couldn't take long breaks, she had to keep moving. Ealdor had been a quaint village, nothing ever happened. Good or bad, until it actually did. Then Alya wished beyond reason that everything would go back to the boring nothingness of the past nineteen years of her life.

It had happened so quickly. One moment Ealdor was a picturesque village in the midst of the harvest festival and the next there were flames rising high over the roofs of the houses. Alya mindlessly walked between booths of baskets and food. The blacksmith's' hammer snapped her out of her thoughts.

She slid past a couple of giggling girls. The castle courtyard was empty besides several shaking maids. Their hands full of cleaning supplies. Alya craned her head to take a closer look at what they were cleaning. She felt bile rise in her throat at the sight of large puddles of blood. And a human head. Covering her mouth she took a deep breath. What the hell kind of a place did she wander into?

Alya's head felt light, her bottom lip between her teeth.

Glancing quickly around the space she saw a pair of red dressed guards. When she walked past the detached head she could smell the ichor off the stones. Turning her head away she hurried past.

"Excuse me?" One of the men turned to her. He looked her up from her flat shoes to her trousered legs, up her tailored jacket and finally to her braided dark hair. She tried not to fidget under his gaze. "Could you tell me where to find the court physician?"

"You havin' womanly pains or somethin' like that?"

Squinting her eyes she flatly replied. "Something like that."

 **~o.O.o~**

Gaius was an elderly man, white above the shoulder length hair, crooked nose and a serious case of clumsiness. She'd called his name and his turning feet had slipped, toppling his body through the thin railing. Without thinking she acted.

 _Prohibere._

The air around her crackled with magic. Her normally blue eyes flashed a caramel brown and the scene stopped. Gaius' body paused in midair, arms flung out blindly trying to catch himself, and pages from the shelf he was next to fluttering to the floor. Searching around the room she spotted his bed.

 _Movere._

The wooden frame screeched against the hardwood floors. It came to an end underneath the elder man. Calculating the distance between them she decided that it should support his weight without a problem.

With another thought Gaius was falling through the air and landing on the mattress with a loud _thump_. He groaned and turned his body from side to side trying to alleviate the pain from falling. Alya cringed and grit her teeth.

Gaius sat up in the sheet and looked around the room suspiciously. His studying eyes landed on her. "You could be killed for that!"

"I- I'm sorry! I saw you fall and-" She was rambling and she knew that but all she could see in her head was the courtyard. Maggots on his pale face. The cold look in those women's faces as they scrubbed away his dry blood. She didn't want to be the next head that rolled.

"Who are you?" He crossed his sleeved arms over his chest. Watching her accusingly.

"I'm Alya Merlin, Hunith's daughter."

Sympathy and regret filled his widening eyes. "Please, leave your things through there." He gestured to a door across the room. Alya opened her mouth trying to ask if he would tell. If he would let her be the next beheaded sorcerer in Camelot.

"Will you, um, tell- about the, you know?" She timidly nodded to the broken banister.

Gaius followed her eyes. "I won't tell anyone, but be careful when you use that. And thank you. I would have broken a hip if you hadn't been here."

Alya smiled down at her shoes. "You're welcome."

The sorceress ran past him and into the empty room. There was a dresser on one corner, a flat bed in the middle of the room and a small window on the other end. Dropping her knapsack on the covers she toed off her boots. There were blisters already forming and Alya cringed, this would make it slightly painful to walk around for a few days.

Nonetheless Alya gently sidestepped the bed and stood in front of the glass. She swung it open and peeked outside. Resting her tired head on her crossed arms, on the windowsill. It was sunset. A canvassed sky of azure blue and shades of orange bleeding into an array of pinks and purples. So many colors that it was hard for her to believe they existed.

It was beautiful, the way the sky darkened over the sleeping city below her. But it wasn't just that. It was the end of the last day Alya would be haunted. At least she hoped it would be.

Sobering up she tightly shut the window and retreated to her bed.

It would be a restless night but anything beat the harsh floor of the forest. Where any sound would rouse her, ready to fight off whoever was near her. The thick strap of leather on her hunting knife handle digging into her palm.

 _Yes_ , she decided, _anything is better than the forest floor_.

 **~o.O.o~**

The sound of the city woke her. A lady's scream from the streets. Alya bolted upright in the small cot, hand reaching for anything to defend herself. Finding the blade she jogged swiftly to the window. Looking down she spotted the problem. An overturned cart had taken up half the street. A woman in a finely made red dress was shouting. Grey haired looked stark against the deep material, she was older than Alya by a good dozen years, but there was something familiar about her. The castle maids from yesterday had worn the same dress.

A man was with her. Lean but muscular with golden blonde hair. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a scarlet jacket over his broad shoulders. He looked positively bored, gently picking at a loose thread. Rolling her eyes Alya scoffed and turned away.

"Ah, you're awake! I thought you'd never wake." Gaius dropped a stack of books on the nearest surface and waved her to a table next to the door.

"Sorry," She sat and took a large bite of the sandwich Gaius placed before her. "The long journey took a lot out of me."

"I hope you'll be well rested by Wednesday." Alya swallowed and glanced at the man sitting in front of her.

"I will be, do you have anything you need help with?"

"There's a banquet in honor of Sir Galahad. Knights, nobles, and wealthy merchants will be there. But whenever there's a party in Camelot there's my least favorite thing, in abundance, alcohol. I can almost guarantee a few drunk related injuries."

"And you want me to sit in and babysit?" She said, raising her eyebrows.

"I know you were the closest thing to a healer Ealdor had. I want to see your skill without life and death hanging in the way." _Healer_ wasn't exactly a proper term to what she used to be. She knew a thing or two about medicinal plants but for more severe injuries she would use magic. Without anyone being the wiser, of course.

"Makes sense." She finished the food. "I won't let you down."

He smiled kindly, his eyes wrinkling.

 **~o.O.o~**

 **~Two Days Later~**

 **~Gwaine~**

Gwaine felt like there was a number of things in life that could be used as an excuse to escape unwanted situations. Sadly, none of them worked on persistent Princesses like Arthur Pendragon. The dark haired knight threw back what was left in his wine goblet. Reaching to run his frustrated fingers through his hair he froze, remembering the pestering hair dresser that had slicked back the unruly mame. He leaned further into the hard stone wall hoping it would swallow him whole.

He hated _celebrations_ like this. This was just another noble tradition, having feasts for everything. Not that he didn't think Sir Galahad deserved the honor, he had loyally served Uther for twenty years- Gwaine was barely managing two without wanting to throttle the King. But it had been hours of pointless chatter, weak liquor, and stuck up noble women gossiping.

He was sick of it.

Gwaine glanced around the grant room. Bright red streamers flowed between thick wooden beams, the Pendragon and Galahad crests hanging above the double doors. Long tables were stationed on either side of the room players of foods and drinks overflowing on top. Summer light refracted through the stained glass window that took up the entire wall in front of him. It was ridiculous how much money Kings spent to make things aesthetically pleasing.

There was a rather blatant young lady across the dining hall, her eyes watching his uninterested posture. She had been staring for quite a while and Gwaine couldn't decide if she was interesting in his looks or the gold stitched dragon emblem on his cape.

While he was distracted a man slid into the spot on the wall next to him. Gwaine could have jumped when Lancelot's voice floated around their small alcove. It was close to the door, he had been hoping that it would make it easier to slip out. "Are you going to be a fly on the wall the entire night?"

Gwaine looked into his empty cup disheartedly, glancing over to his friends hand he saw the wine. Subtly switching them before he took a deep drink. "Do you think this is one of Arthur's endurance tests?"

"It's not that bad, try to enjoy it. There's food, company," Lancelot nodded pointedly to Gwaine's hand. "Drinks."

Chuckling he finished off the wine. "Always the noble one, eh, mate?"

"One of us has to be." Gwaine dropped both of their drained goblets onto a passing tray, before he could grab another one Lancelot jerked him back. "I'm afraid you can't get wasted tonight." Gwaine rolled his eyes, like he could get drunk on a few glasses of wine.

"When can we leave this soiree?" Gwaine swept his arm in the vast vicinity.

"When it's been more than a couple of hours, Gwaine." Lancelot said disapprovingly. "Sir Galahad is a lifelong friend of Uther's and spent the last two decades in service to Camelot. He deserves this."

"No accounting for taste I suppose." Uther wasn't the just King he portrayed. Lancelot knew how Gwaine felt about nobles in general but Uther in particular he agreed with. The moment he heard the word _magic_ it destroyed any rational part of him, nothing could get through him. He was obsessed with purging out anyone who he thought used magic.

Personally, Gwaine had never really _met_ a sorcerer. He knew there were good and bad people, ones who used magic, just like there were nobles who fought for what was right and those who sat behind their wealth. He just hadn't figured out which one Galahad was yet.

Gwaine had only gone on one mission with him, to a bordering town. They hadn't spoken more than a few orders passed between them. Galahad had seemed respectable, someone Gwaine didn't mind taking orders from.

Lancelot opened his mouth but quickly closed it. Confused, Gwaine glanced behind him at the open door. He expected to see Arthur, hear him berate him for his sarcasm and rude comments. What he _didn't_ expect was a legend.

When he was growing up, before his father was killed, his mother would tell him stories. Sometimes they would be about heroic adventures and treasure, others about angelic demons who would lure men to their doom. Staring at her Gwaine felt like running away.

Elbow length deep auburn hair flowed in gentle curls around her face, prominent cheekbones accented seafoam colored eyes. Forest green silk wrapped around her lithe body, crimson roses braided through her long locks, resting at the crown of her head.

She looked like a princess, knowing Uther, she might be. Arthur had been nervous that his father might start looking to arrange something ' _for the good of the kingdom_ '.

"I agree," Her voice was like warm honey. She took a slow sip of her glass. "It must be such a hassle to show respect to a great man." He blinked back in surprise. The warmth from her eyes was gone replaced with steel.

Gwaine didn't hear so much as feel Lancelot moved slightly between them. The woman's head was held high, she leveled a look of anger and disgust towards Gwaine.

 _Who the hell does she think she is?_

"There she is!" Sir Galahad moved soundlessly around the milling bodies. He pulled her closer by the arm, kissing her cheek softly. Her smile was radiant- eyes sparkling with affection towards the older man. The knight turned to Lancelot and Gwaine. "I see you've met my lovely daughter, Cara."

"Yes, we certainly had the privilege." Lancelot said smoothly, shaking Galahad's outstretched hand. Gwaine numbly shook it next as he continued to stare at the woman- Cara. She was otherworldly, fiery, nothing like the women he met in taverns or banquets. If he was introduced to her at a different time perhaps he would buy her a drink.

"Darling, where is your mother?" But she wasn't a country girl with the beauty of a princess. She was a lady, an heiress, someone too rich for his blood.

"You know how she gets with these things. Has to make a grand entrance."

They continued to talk about things that Gwaine couldn't hear. All the noise in the room came flooding into his head. Galahad wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders and waved towards them as he steered her to Arthur and Uther.

"Oh are you in trouble." Lancelot shrugged at the drifting girl.

Gwaine snorted and grabbed Lancelot's shoulders turning him to the Pendragon table. "You're one to talk, loverboy."

"That's _Sir Loverboy_ to you." He grumbled. Although to Gwaine's amusement, his eyes continued to follow the curly haired servant.

"Everyone! Please welcome Lady Helen!"

 **~o.O.o~**

 **~Alya Merlin~**

It was all so bright and lively.

Dresses made from fabrics finer than anything Alya had seen. Laugher and flamboyant guests mobbed like wild animals around the King. Alya watched him laugh, golden crown glistening off the top of his head. She turned away from the bloodied king. His kingdom may be beautiful but it was built on the magical blood of her people.

Alya felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of the mans rolling head, days had passed but she couldn't get it out of her head. She was disgusted by the thought of being anywhere near Uther Pendragon. It reminded her of the danger she was in for the rest of her life, or however long she decided to stay in Camelot. It took everything in her not to get on the first trail and out of there, but she'd promised her mother to stay safe. As ridiculous as it sounded, a kingdom where magic is illegal seemed safer than the unknown.

Alya was slumped in the most deserted corner of the hall. Blue eyes watching the people dance around the heavily decorated floor. Alya noticed a man across the room. His dark hair looked rather stupid pushed tightly back over his scalp. She wondered if the style had been his choice or one of the other knights.

He was handsome, besides the hair, chiseled chin with a trimmed beard. Wide shoulders and Alya could tell he was built underneath the uniform. But she didn't see the attractive man or bored expression, all Alya saw was the crest.

A golden dragon stitched pristinely against the red cloak. The seal of the Knights of Camelot, dyed with the blood of enemies and innocents alike. Alya felt her shoulders square and jaw tense. This was a party of murderers celebrating years of their _success._

Uther Pendragon led Camelot into the Purge ages and Alya knew that his son, Arthur, would follow in his father's footsteps. She couldn't imagine the blonde Prince being anything other than the self centered prat she knew he was. Although she'd only heard him speak in passing it had been enough. He was rude to everyone, commanded respect but did nothing to deserve it. He had a permanent smirk planted on his muscular face.

Alya wondered why all the men in Camelot seemed to have egos the size of the castle.

"Everyone! Please welcome Lady Helen!" Alya gripped the straps of her medicine bag closer to her chest. Something felt off, a feeling of coolness washing through the room. Merlin's eyebrows furrowed when the clicks of heels became closer.

A lovely young woman swept into the room. Layers of summer yellow creating the intricate pattern of her dress. Ebony hair falling around her face in neat curls. She was the vision of wealth. But Alya couldn't rid herself of the dreadful feeling.

"My Lords and Ladies, I am honored to perform in front of you all this evening." Lady Helen was talented. Everyone who could hear her song were captivated into silence, all was still around the Court. Alya felt the heavy pull of sleep carried on the haunting melody, her mind beginning to drift soothingly.

She squeezed her eyes shut, it wouldn't do well to fall asleep. But the lull of Lady Helen's voice was too strong, it calmed her troubled mind. Alya wanted nothing more than to let the sweet feeling of sleep envelope her.

She heard it, the little voice in the back of her head. _Stay awake_ , it whispered.

Her head fell against the stone wall. The force snapped her eyes open. She worriedly glanced around the room, expecting disapproving looks. What she found was more concerning. Their eyes were dulled with unfocus. Bodies gently swaying with the tune.

Alya slapped her shaking hands over her ears, her muddled mind began to clear. The air was thick with the smell of magic, but there was something wrong with the scent. It was defiled as if dozens of shallow cuts had been made until it was mutilated.

It felt wrong. Dirty, sullied by dark magic.

Alya drew back into the drapes, blending in with the decoration as best as she could. She didn't know what to do. It was as though the light around them was bleeding out of the room.

Was she supposed to kill one of her kind? No matter how disgusting and twisted she thought Lady Helen's magic was, she didn't want to kill another magic user. When Helen slowly withdrew a thin knife from the sleeve of her dress Alya bit back a gasp. She didn't want to kill anyone but she didn't want to stand back and let Lady Helen murder anyone either.

Uther was sat between his son and a beautiful black haired woman. His head was rolled back against the wood of his throne. Alya grimaced as Helen's nimble hand held out the blade, she aimed. But it wasn't at the King like Alya thought.

Arthur's fair blond hair was a stark contrast to the dark scarlet of the throne chair. His face was relaxed, peaceful even. Alya could see how young he was underneath all the cocky smiles and arrogant remarks. He may be destined to be like his father but he _should_ have the choice to be _better_ than Uther.

Alya blinked back tears and focused her eyes on the ceiling.

 _Intermissum._

Her eyes flashed a molten gold and the heavy chain of the chandelier snapped. She shut her eyes but her body felt the shock of metal hitting the floor. Alya had never killed anyone before, she'd seen death in the past but it felt different when she was the cause.

People were moving around, scurrying away from the fallen ornate light fixture and the woman laying underneath. Alya moved around a couple of people. A girl with fiery red hair was pulled behind an older knight.

Lady Helen no longer looked the part of a young and clear skinner woman. Her hair was ivory, skin wrinkled and worn from years. She was wittering under the metal. "Witch!"

Alya cringed away from the vile way the word slipped from the King's mouth. She was close enough to see the blood pooling, could smell iron and hear the groans.

Alya was turning away from the woman when Helen rose her upper body from the weight and flicked her wrist, letting the knife go. Alya shook her head.

 _Don't think, Alya, act._

"Watch out!" She sprinted towards the Prince, reaching forward she dug her nails into his arms and pulled. Arthur stumbled away from the table. His feet slipping off the floor from the force. Arthur's blue eyes were wide when they met hers. She twisted her body. Alya fell on top of his, armor sounding off the floor.

Arthur's groan was cut short when a loud _thump_ echoed behind them. Arthur's large hand covered her head, protecting it as best as he could. Alya pulled away quickly, sitting up on her legs and staring at the knife sticking out of the dead center of Arthur's chair.

She felt the blond shift beneath her. He sat up after her, legs tangled together. "Arthur! Are you alright?" Uther rushed to roughly pull his son off the floor. Alya tried to pull herself up by the edge of the table but a sharp pain in her upper arm stopped her.

The knight she'd seen earlier and the redheaded girl knelt down by her. "Your arm." She examined it lightly.

"I'm okay, just need to get myself up and off the floor." Alya explained. The woman nodded and wrapped her uninjured arm around her shoulders. The knight held out his hand to her. Alya took it gently and breathed in sharply when they pulled her up.

"I'm Cara," The woman- Cara- held out her hand to Alya, still holding her up. "That's Gwaine." She continued with an eyeroll. Pointedly looking at the brooding knight who had helped Alya stand.

"Alya." She dropped her arm, her fingertips pulling the fabric of her sleeve away to inspect the wound. It was a thin but deep gash on her bicep.

"You! Girl! You saved my son's life!" Turning, Alya could see an ashen faced Arthur next to his father, eyes firmly set glaring at the floor. Uther's hand was clamped on his son's broad shoulder. "You must be rewarded for your bravery."

"I don't need a reward for doing the right thing, Your Majesty." Alya clenched her teeth.

Uther laughed, Alya could tell he didn't find anything funny, and neither did she. "Nonsense, you will be Arthur's new maidservant!" People around her clapped but Alya saw it more than she heard it.

This has got to be the most idiotic reward she'd ever gotten. Alya could see the Prince's hand, knuckles white from the fist it was in. He didn't like this either and in an odd way that made Alya feel better.

 **~o.O.o~**

 **~Unknown~**

He strode through the halls, fingers skimming the walls. A familiar humm echoing around him. The heavy musk of blood and sweat hung in the air. The smell was pungent, lingering on his clothes and in his nose.

The wood of the door was rotten, easily opened. Part of the wall had collapsed, scattering rubble and sunlight around the room. The woman's body hung from a pair of rusted chains attached to the ceiling. "You're a monster!"

"Perhaps," He ran his hand down the expanse of her scratched stomach, it came away wet with blood. "Monster or not you're going to tell me what I want to know."

"No! I won't tell you anything!"

"Loyalty, after everything? Impressive." He turned to the tray. Picking up a thin knife. The blade was light in his calloused hands. "But I'll soon fix that."

There was quite, deafening silence. It was as if the only thing that existed was the way the water dropped slowly from the cracks above their heads. The man twisted the knife in her skin. Her grey hair brushed his face as her head whipped back and a rippling scream covered his demented tune.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or any of the characters. That belongs to BBC and the incredibly legendary Thomas Malory.**

 **For the magic I used Latin and although I actually take Latin in school I used Google Translate because I am trash.**

 **Hello sweet literary children of mine.**

 **So I've had this idea for a while and Merlin has been over for years, honestly I've rewatched it half a dozen times and the end of season 5 still haunts me. Do you think that if I continuously watch Merlin the ending might change?**

 **I don't have a update schedule, for any of my stories really, so I suppose this is going to get new chapters whenever my inspiration strikes. Reviews do help though, _hint hint_.**

 **I'm almost a hundred percent certain that there will be a squeal. But it's all conjecture.**


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